


one step backwards, two steps onward

by LavworthMyWay



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst and Humor, Broody Fenris (Dragon Age), Fenris (Dragon Age) Needs a Hug, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Past Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Varric Tethras is a Good Friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:07:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24506632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LavworthMyWay/pseuds/LavworthMyWay
Summary: Fenris didn't make friends. He'd rather not risk his life banking on the potential kindness of others.It didn't occur to him that despite all that had happened to him, he was still deserving of love and kindness from those he eventually came to call friends.Or, a tale of recovery and rediscovery through snippets of Fenris's life in Kirkwall where he learns how to live without being defined by his resentment.Or, alternatively titled, "Fen and Friends".
Relationships: Anders & Fenris (Dragon Age), Fenris & Aveline Vallen, Fenris & Hawke, Fenris & Isabela (Dragon Age), Fenris & Merrill (Dragon Age), Fenris & Varric Tethras
Comments: 2
Kudos: 34





	one step backwards, two steps onward

Fenris didn't make friends. The people he knew were _Hawke's_ friends. And Hawke was merely an acquaintance who promised to help him deal with Danarius.

If only that bastard of a former master would just show his face in Kirkwall already.

Fenris wasn't a patient man either. One could see it from the way he fought. Leaping right into the heart of battle, just like how he would reach right into the hearts of his enemies and rip them out. Slashing his enemies' heads clean off their shoulders. Driving his broadsword straight through their chests.

Fenris wasn't one to dally. What was the point of wasting time? It was a mindset drilled into him since young, perhaps. If you waste your time, you waste your master’s time. And if you waste your master’s time, you get punished. With such a fear ingrained into every fibre of his being, he couldn't help but feel agitated whenever he felt like time was spent on useless things. Varric took his sweet time to speak his mind, as he tended to do, making Fenris bristle in annoyance when it happened.

Which was why he appreciated Aveline’s bluntness. The “human-shaped battering ram” as Varric quipped, which was strangely fitting.

She got straight to the point. Took things in her hands.

She could care less about what people thought of her and followed her heart, which was something Fenris had always admired.

“The cart holding the slaves mysteriously opened by itself. And the slavers were also mysteriously not to be found.”

She had spoken with an air of faux nonchalance. The glint in her eyes said otherwise.

Fenris smirked, a sadistic satisfaction swelling up his chest.

One would expect Aveline to be a by-the-book kind of guard. With her steely resolution and steelier set of principles, she'd be the ideal face of Kirkwall’s security enforcement. But underneath the tough armour of uptightness, lay a bold defiant fire.

“What a shame. Now the slaves can only be free.” Fenris remarked dryly.

Aveline let out a soft huff of amusement, then considered him deliberately.

“So tell me, Fenris.” She began slowly with purpose. “What do you wish to do after you have confronted your former master?”

He paused. He hadn’t really thought about it, actually. Ever since he had been a fugitive, all he could think about was to deal with the hired muscle Danarius had sent after him, and the sick satisfaction when he would finally kill his former master and be free.

Whatever would come after, was a complete blank. He intended on surviving, certainly. But the future mattered less than the need to reclaim his freedom.

“I…don't know.” He answered truthfully. “I have more coin than I need, thanks to Hawke's expeditions. I could put that to good use.”

“Perhaps.” Aveline wondered. “It wouldn't hurt to start thinking about it.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

Fenris frowned.

“The future is unpredictable. You may have a comprehensive plan for it, only for a small change to turn it to dust. When I was a slave, all I could think of is making it through the day and not die. Because the life of a slave is worth as much as their master gives it.”

“But you are not a slave.” Aveline pointed out. “Not anymore. There isn’t a need to think like that now.”

Fenris scowled, feeling a jolt of defensive indignation surge through him. “You think it's something I can just turn off?”

Aveline was undeterred by his animosity. “Certainly not. It was mindset forcibly conditioned into you. But it doesn’t mean you can’t overcome it. After I had to…grant Wesley peace, I kept imagining how I could have prevented it. I have already made peace with this, but the grief initially was unimaginably overwhelming. I knew I couldn’t have foreseen it and it didn’t do me any good to despair over what has been done, but my heart was reluctant to catch up to my mind. Still, I tell myself that every day, until it finally feels like I mean it. It is a process, but it can be done.”

He had heard about that ill-fated story. How Aveline had to kill her husband to spare him the misery.

“You are a strong woman, Aveline. It is immensely admirable.”

A woeful smile graced her lips, but a second passed and then stretched into a genuine one. “Thank you. You are very strong yourself, Fenris. I’ve never seen determination quite like yours. And I can tell you have the potential to be even greater than you are currently.”

It was high praise, coming from Aveline. Fenris felt a strange warmth blooming across his chest. Yet, he felt undeserving of it. It fit him awkwardly, like it wasn’t meant to belong to him. Nothing belonged to him. Lethendralis was bestowed upon him by the Fog Warriors, and he repaid them with cold-blooded slaughter. He did not deserve to continue wielding it, but he did so anyway. As a reminder of his sins, of why he needed to keep fighting.

“Thank you, Aveline.” Fenris was relieved his voice did not give away the storm of emotions raging within him. “I do not believe I deserve such laudation. I am strong, but only so that I can survive.”

Aveline smiled, but there was something in her eyes that gave Fenris pause. Pity? No, Aveline wasn’t the type to take useless pity on others. He thought he identified sadness, but why would she feel sad for him? Aveline knew something that he didn’t, and somehow that frustrated him.

But he decided not to think too much about it. If Aveline chose not to elaborate, then he found it nonessential to pursue the matter.

Still, her question hovered in the dark corners of his mind, and for the first time in a while he gave serious rumination over his future.

* * *

Fenris might get along with Hawke and Aveline, and arguably Varric, but that was where he would draw the line. The others following Hawke were much more…disagreeable.

Today, Fenris bitterly thought, was a horrible reminder of that.

For at least an hour without pause, Anders had been going on a heated rambling about freedom for mages, about justice for their oppression.

Fenris attempted to keep his mouth shut for Hawke's sake, lest he antagonize his companion further. But his already thinning patience was at its limit.

And in the heat of the moment, he snapped at Anders to shut up because that this rate, with his unrestrained shouting, he's going to attract the attention of the Templars and Fenris would be more than happy to let them take him away to keep things quiet around here.

He hadn’t meant it, certainly. He might loathe the mage, but he hadn’t actively wished for the Templars to descend upon him and capture him to the Circle.

But it is to everyone’s misfortune that Fenris’s temper was quicker than his wits, and he spewed things that undoubtedly rubbed people the wrong way.

Hawke shot him a warning look. But it was too late.

Anders didn't shut up. In fact, it infuriated him further.

“You bigoted son of a —”

“Blondie! There are children listening.” Varric exclaimed brightly, as they stood in the middle of Sundermount, surrounded by nothing but flora and fauna.

Anders sucked in a sharp breath to clamp down on his anger. Most likely to stop his _demon_ from surfacing, Fenris thought darkly.

A few seconds passed, and Anders spoke up again. He glared at Fenris, hurt and rage swirling in his eyes like a destructive whirlwind.

“Of all people, I would not have expected you to say such things. To approve of this abhorrent oppression.”

“Elves don't give people a reason to fear them if they go unrestrained.”

“We're not barbaric animals that go on murderous rampages! If anything, _you_ are the barbaric one here, clawing into people's chests like a beast—”

Fenris snarled and whipped around to face him squarely.

“ _Children_.” Hawke cut in with practiced casualness, but one could detect the tension underlying the laidback tone.

“Now, now. Let's play nice. It’s not everyday we let you out of the house.” Varric piped in.

Anders stared at the two in exasperation. “Come on, you can’t expect me to tolerate what he believes in! He supports the discriminatory subjugation of my people!”

“My beliefs are built the collective and historical sufferings of _my_ people.”

“So are mine!”

Beginning to get exhausted from the endless animosity, Hawke could only gesture weakly. “If you two just use your big brains a bit more and listen to what each other is saying, maybe, _just maybe_ , you’ll finally see the point.”

“What I don’t _see_ is why you decided that putting the mage and me within close proximity to each other is a sound idea.”

“You know, maybe we should just let them fight it out.” Varric stage-whispered to Hawke.

“This is getting nowhere!” Anders threw his hands up in frustration. “He's clearly not coming around. You two are clearly not being helpful. Let’s just get this over and done with so this bigot and I won’t have to cross paths ever again.”

“For once, I agree.”

Hawke let out an exaggerated sigh. “I wonder when will be the day you two realise you have so much in common. Probably the day I become Divine.”

Fenris glowered at Hawke. What was that supposed to mean?

“We have nothing in common.”

“I second that.”

Varric looked like he was split between groaning and laughing.

“Oh, youths these days.”

* * *

If standing next to Anders was hair-raisingly uncomfortable, it was even more so with the other mage.

Fighting alongside Merrill was never settling. He could never get used to the pinching metallic stench in the air. The blood used for the dark magic always smelt different to normal blood. The malodour reeked of corruption and malevolence. Throwing him back into a spiral of painful memories. Elven children screaming their lungs out as they desperately begged for mercy as they were mercilessly bled out. Slaves who offended their masters for the most minuscule of mistakes. Their blood worth more than their lives.

But Merrill always insisted that she would only ever use her own blood.

“I would never use someone else's blood.”

Her green eyes were bright with frustrated determination. Bright with foolish naivety. Fenris knew she would just get eaten up and spit back out by the cruelties of the world.

“You say that. But you will succumb to the temptations blood magic offer. It won’t be long before you find your own blood unsatisfying and start using the blood of others.”

They always would.

Merrill’s eyes shone with indignant anger.

“I would tell you that I'd prove you wrong, but I have no need to prove you anything.”

Fenris’s expression soured even further. The way she said it rubbed him the wrong way. He wasn’t sure why. But he rarely gave himself the time to slow down and ponder over the words of others.

“It is the inevitable outcome for all blood mages.” He decided to say.

Merrill clenched her fists so hard that her entire body began trembling with resentment.

“Why do you always see the worst in people?”

“It puts me at an advantage. I would not risk my life banking on the potential kindness of others.”

The look of vexation dropped and morphed into something akin to sorrow. Somehow it was worse than if she was angry at him. It was like with Aveline again. And with Hawke and Varric.

He hated it. Hated feeling like he was oblivious to something about himself that others around him were aware of. Hated being unaware of something. Hated being at a disadvantage.

Hated being reminded of the sadistic entertainment Danarius and Hadriana used to get from watching him squirm with uncomfortable anticipation. When he knew he had made a mistake but wasn’t sure what. And would have to suffer under merciless hands and humiliating remarks until he figured it out. To have his stomach twist and churn as he tried to please his master in every way he could imagine.

“I feel sorry for you, Fenris.”

Bitter indignation burned hot in his chest. “I have no need of your misplaced pity, blood mage.”

She shook her head sadly. “You will not have friends with such way of thinking. I cannot imagine living a life like that.”

“Then cease this pointless imagination. I have no need for friends.”

The pinched expression on her face told him she had a plethora of opinions to say, but resigned herself with the conclusion that he would not listen.

She let out a tired sigh. “I hope you will be able to let go of that hatred within you, Fenris. You deserve a life that is more than just resentment.”

Fenris didn't know what to say to that. There was enough resentment in him to last him more than two lifetimes. He had nothing else he could use to keep him going.

He felt like he walked away the confrontation feeling emptier. Like the hollow within him yawned even wider, swallowing him deeper into the void from inside out.

For the first time since running away after doing what he did to the Fog Warriors, it left him feeling more lost than ever. As if he had taken one step forward only to be thrown two steps back.

* * *

“You know, you and Anders aren’t that different.”

_“What?”_

Fenris regretted stepping outside his mansion. The walls of the mansion were pressing in on him. The idea of remaining longer in that place was getting unbearable by the second. He contemplated on finding comfort in the bottom of a wine bottle, but decided against it in the last minute.

Kirkwall festered with bandits late into the night. The image of crushing a bandit's heart into pulp seemed slightly more therapeutic than losing himself in the temporary buzz of alcohol.

And of course, he had to bump into the pirate, who was on her merry way to the Blooming Rose. With a playful cock of her hips, she cheekily suggested that he tag along for some “fun times”, which he curtly refused. After declining a few more times, she suddenly piped up with the strange, and frankly insulting, comment.

“Take away the feathers and spiky armour, you’re just two man-children comparing who has the biggest cock-pain.”

Fenris bristled. “I don’t–”

Isabela cut him off, making exaggerated facial expressions. “You can’t go for a minute without moaning about evil mages, getting all woe-is-me, mages-should-be-locked-up wankfest. And he does the exact same, if you replace evil mages with evil templars, and bitch about mages being freed instead of imprisoned.”

He flared up further, taking offence to her brutally candid tone.

“Like, I get it. I can’t say I can begin to understand the fucked-up shite you had to go through. But you’re not the only one who got screwed over by life. So stop acting like it is, and try to wipe that shit stain off your eyes and realise that people around you are fighting their own battles too. Battles that are _not_ against you.”

Fenris instinctively wanted to snap back at her, hurling spiteful remarks that _of course slavery is the worst thing anyone could ever suffer_. He had every right to talk about it.

But he would be proving her right, wouldn’t he? Making it all about him, and only him.

“What is your point? I believe this is more than just some inane comparison between the mage and me.”

“My point is,” Isabela pinned him with an resolute look, “To pull your head out of your gorgeous arse because there's more to your life than your suffering. And this world doesn’t need more man-pain.”

“I don’t follow.” All his life, he’s known nothing but suffering. Fear. Hatred. Hopelessness.

Anger.

Isabela’s expression softened. “You deserve better, Fenris. We all do. We can't change the past, but we can decide what we want in the present. Sometimes, we can't get that by ourselves and we need some help. I became captain through my own smarts and skills, of course. But it started with someone entering my life and helping me change it forever. You don’t have to keep living like this.”

 _You don’t have to keep living like this._ He didn't have to keep living like this. Like what? A fugitive? Is that what she meant?

But he didn't know how else to live.

Isabela’s clever eyes searched his face, before they set in rollicking determination.

“You know what, you look like you need to rip someone's balls out. And I happened to bring my daggers with me. What say you that we kill some poor bastards?”

Fenris raised a brow. “I thought you had other plans.”

Isabela casually shrugged, flipping her hair back. “I can always get my rose bloomed another day. And besides, I might end up with a better bed partner by the end of the night.”

“Don’t push your luck.”

She threw him a smug smirk. “Darling, I don’t get to live the life I have now by sitting on my hands.”

Fenris huffed, but found himself smiling, nonetheless.

“Well, the bandits won’t just kill themselves.”

“Shall we, then?”

* * *

It started out as a fine day. Hawke called him out for a quest at Sundermount. Both mages were not accompanying Hawke this time round. And they managed to locate the item without much trouble.

It had been going quite smoothly, until it didn’t. Because of course the Maker would loathe to let Fenris have things without getting thrown about like a ragdoll first.

A hoard of demons had gathered at the entrance of the cave, attacking the gang the moment they stepped out.

“I knew this was going all too well!” Hawke cried.

“The Maker loves to shit on our dinner, after all!” Varric quipped back as he fired his first arrow.

Isabela scoffed. “Would be nice if I should take a quick one on His, for a change.”

They all quickly got to work. The demons weren’t anything they hadn’t come across, but with such a considerable number it would take some time to wipe them all out.

Fenris eyed an unguarded Revenant near him and decided to take it down before it could do any damage.

Just as he was about to lunge at the Revenant, however, Hawke yelled at him to wait.

But he was too strung up with adrenaline to second-guess his own decision.

After a lifetime of following orders, Fenris decided he was finished listening to them.

To follow your own instincts and make your own judgements – was that not what it meant to be free?

It left a bad taste in his mouth, whenever someone told him what to do. He was not their servant, and certainly not their _slave_ , Maker forbid.

So, he stomped down his knee-jerk response to _obey_ , and swung at it anyway. He didn’t see why he should miss this window of opportunity. The enemy was wide open, and it would not be able to retaliate in time.

But Hawke was standing a good few feet away, and had the benefit of the distance to notice. That an Arcane Horror had manifested into the battlegrounds just beyond Fenris’s periphery. And it was aiming right at the warrior, ready to cast its attack.

Fenris realised it just as he hacked into the Revenant. Time slowed down. He could only watch as the Horror moved its rotting arms in preparation.

Before the Arcane Horror could make a move, a blast of ice hit it square in the chest. The creature staggered backwards and was given no mercy as a sharp arrow tore through it. A wretched shriek ripped out of its throat, and it was over.

Fenris breathed, and time resumed its usual pace. It was a close call, but he had many close calls before. It was careless of him, but his brutal fighting style situated him in the centre of chaos. He could have shrugged off the attack, but he appreciated not needing to undergo that pain.

“FENRIS!”

His entire body locked up in instinctual fear. His breath caught in his throat. Danarius was storming up towards him. The threat of pain and punishment in his hands. The words of humiliation on his lips.

“I thought I told you to wait!” Danarius bellowed. “Why didn’t you listen?!” 

Survival instincts kicked right in. He opened his mouth, ready to beg for his master’s mercy. “I’m so—”

The beginnings of an apology spilled past his lips, but he clamped it shut before he blurted it out. Before he blurted out his shame and weakness.

He blinked. And the bracket of grey beard faded into smooth skin, the hard coldness of grey eyes melted into a warmer hue.

“Fenris?”

Hawke stared at him with wide, worried eyes, hand reaching out in concern.

And all of a sudden, the world’s axis shifted back.

“Leave me.” He hissed, lips curling back into a snarl.

“Fenris! Wait– where are you going?”

He didn’t entertain Hawke with an answer.

It was only when everyone had disappeared out of earshot, where the stale silence of Sundermount pressed down upon him did he realise his fingers were trembling. He clenched them into a tight first. Willing the quivering away.

 _Kaffas_. Why did he let slip such foolish vulnerability? The shameful, downright _revolting_ side of him that he would rather rip his heart out than reveal?

He stormed back to his mansion, self-disgusted disgrace burning in his wake.

He made a mess in the library, because it was the easiest way to let off steam. He wasn’t sure how long he had been in there. Books were thrown to the floor and against the wall. Chairs were toppled over.

And then he heard something.

Shuffling. Quiet, deliberate. Like they wanted to be heard, but were also being careful.

Fenris didn’t have his sword with him, but he didn’t need it to put someone to the ground.

Slipping out of the library, he prowled towards the source of the footsteps. The intruder was approaching round the corner, and Fenris decided to ambush them just as they turned.

He was about to pounce on them, but the familiar tuff of chest hair bursting out of red tunic forced him into an abrupt halt.

“Holy shi—Don’t shove your fist into my heart. I like it where it belongs, thank you very much.”

Fenris huffed and stepped back, giving Varric some space. The dwarf seemed less frightened then he made himself up to be, so it didn’t look like harm had been done.

“Why are you here, dwarf?”

“What, can’t I pay my favourite brooding elf a visit?”

Fenris narrowed his eyes in scepticism. Varric Tethras never did anything just because. He’d do things for fun, certainly, but he was never one without a purpose.

Just then, he picked up on a savoury aroma wafting in the air.

Varric noticed his observation and smugly raised a worn basket in his hand.

“Just thought you might like some good ol’ steak and ale pie. I considered getting alcohol, but you’ve already gotten the finest collection of wine – for free might I also add – in your borrowed cellar.”

“I’m allergic to beef.” He decided to say.

“Oh?” Varric also decided to humour him. “If you are allergic to beef, then why are you getting into arguments with everyone under the sun and moons?”

Fenris snorted.

“You still have not stated your purpose of visit.”

“Can’t we have a little mysterious foreplay before we get to the good stuff? No wonder there hasn’t been anyone warming your bed.”

Fenris cocked a brow. “If you play your cards right, you could be the first.”

“Oho! The elf flirts! And just helpfully provided the juicy details, or lack thereof, about his life behind closed doors.”

He rolled his eyes. “Just so you and Isabela won’t have any material for your little stories.”

“You give our imagination far too little credit.”

Fenris made a disgusted noise at the back of his throat. “I do not wish to hear about the filthy things you write about us.”

“We don’t write only smut. Our genre has a very impressive range, I’ll have you know. In fact, I’m collecting some of Hawke's best adventures!”

Fenris tensed at the mention of Hawke, but quickly relaxed himself. Unfortunately, Varric Tethras made his living paying attention to everything. So naturally it didn’t go unnoticed.

“Hawke didn’t mean to yell, you know. Just being a good ol’ worrywart.”

“I know.” He said automatically.

For his own good. It was always for his own good.

(Danarius’s voice echoed in his head, as he sensed a phantom set of fingers running through his hair _. “It’s for your own good, my little wolf.”_ )

Varric sighed, sensed the insincerity behind his words.

“Hawke has always been someone with honour. Never one to ever let you down on the battlefield.”

No. Hawke could be a major pain in the arse, but never was one to turned away from anyone – strangers, friends, _him_. It was Hawke’s greatest strength. Fenris shouldn’t have any reason to doubt the genuinity in Hawke's concern for him.

“This world’s a major mess, but it has some redeemable points. I’m proud to say I’ve found them in our merry band of misfits.”

Fenris snorted in amusement. “Them.”

“Yep. Them, and you.”

This time, he frowned. He grunted in disbelief.

Varric caught that, that observant bastard.

“Unhappy to be lumped together with us?”

“Was it ever a question?”

Varric chuckled, but then his eyes crinkled into something fond.

“You're a good man, Broody. A little sharp around the edges, but you're still a gem beneath all that sharpness.”

“I know you're an exceptional liar, dwarf. There is no need to curry flavour with me.”

“Aw, can't a dwarf pay a sincere compliment from time to time? Besides, you're a part of us now, whether you like it or not.”

Fenris rolled his eyes, but found that it was half-hearted.

Varric's light expression fell into something slightly more serious, slightly more open. Fenris was uncertain if he liked that.

“I mean it, Broody. You're a decent guy, especially after all the shit you've been through. And you have us. Most of us, anyway. Hawke cares about you. I care about you. Red looks out for you – she doesn't change shifts around your hoity-toity mansion for just anybody. Daisy is too nice for her own good and you really should be kinder to her—don’t give me that look, Broody—Rivaini, well, she cares enough. Junior couldn’t really be that bothered, but he’s a decent fellow. Blondie will zap you as far as he can throw you, so he's the exception.

“But what I’m trying to say is – You have people sticking out for you.”

Fenris was speechless. He gaped at Varric, mind blank of coherent thought.

“I…I, uh—”

“You don’t need to say anything, Broody.” Varric held up a hand, grinning. “Just wanted to put it out there.”

When Fenris still hadn’t dignified him with a reply, he took it as a cue for him to leave.

“Well, I can hear the Hanged Man bemoaning my prominent absence, and Bianca needs her beauty rest, so I’ll be taking my leave now. Don’t forget to eat the pie!”

He gave him a wave and headed out the door, not waiting for Fenris to get up. It was for the best – Fenris wasn’t sure he had enough coherence in him to move.

* * *

The battle didn’t go well.

Hawke was unfortunately less-than-adequate in healing Fenris's would. The most Hawke could heal was a paper cut. And Fenris was suffering from a paper cut. Except that it was not cut by paper. And it stretched along his entire outer thigh.

So it was not really a paper cut, so it was beyond Hawke’s abilities.

“Maker damn my left toe, why do you wear such thin clothing?”

“I favour mobility over protection.” Came the simple answer.

“I’m surprised your balls don't freeze off. Kirkwall is a lot more frigid than sunny, humid Tevinter.”

“I run hot.” Which was fortunate, given how cold the rest of Thedas was compared to Tevinter and Seheron.

“Would like to experience that for myself.” Isabela purred.

“Wouldn't you like to know.” Fenris said dryly.

“We're out of healing potions, and we don't know when we get our hands on one. So we should get you straight to a healer.”

Fenris stilled as the realisation set.

“No.”

Hawke shot him a pointed stare. “Fenris, your wound is the size of the Arishok’s asshole. You can't expect to—”

“I don’t want the _abomination_ anywhere near me—”

“For fuck’s sake, Fenris, you're bleeding your tits out. Now isn't the time for your prejudices!”

“No. Magic.” He growled, punctuating every word.

“So you're fine if he uses non-magical methods?” Varric cut in thoughtfully.

Fenris paused, and stared at him.

Isabela clapped her hands decisively. “Alright, it's decided then. We take you to Anders, we make sure he doesn’t have his way with you, and that you two don’t claw each other’s eyes out in the process!”

“I highly doubt he would even want to have Fenris in _any_ way.” Hawke eye-rolled.

“Head on a silver platter, perhaps.”

Fenris opened his mouth to snap at Isabela’s comment, that she wasn’t making it any better. She was right, however. Anders loathed Fenris with every inch of his body. There was no way he would be willing to heal the man who hollered for the containment of mages.

“Broody?” Varric cut him off before he could say anything. “Is it gonna be a yes?”

Fenris gave his companions a long look each.

“Fine. I doubt he would even agree to this. But mark my words, if he tries anything…”

“Don’t worry, I would prefer our resident healer with his heart remained in his chest.”

Hawke was designated as the one to hold Fenris up. Varric declared he didn’t possess the ideal body size to support Fenris’s weight. Isabela lamented she had had enough of carrying men through all sorts of troubles.

They slipped into Darktown without much event.

Anders was neck-deep with patients, as usual. His hair was frizzy and eyes dry with exhaustion. The moment he saw Hawke walk in, however, his eyes lit up with renewed vitality.

Which quickly fell in dread when he noticed the injured Fen limping alongside.

“Anders!” Hawke exclaimed cheerfully. “Fenris is in need of your loving touch.”

Fenris threw Hawke a tired glare. “Be grateful that you are holding me up, or you would suffer for those words.”

“I carried you all the way here from Sundermount, and this is the thanks I get?”

Anders shot them an exasperated look, and gestured to the medical bed. “Lay him there. I’ll take a look.”

Fenris blinked, taken aback. He expected the mage to sneer and turn him away, refusing to treat him. Even expected him to laugh sardonically at him for coming to him after what he had said about mages.

Hawke moved towards the bed, tugging him both out of his thoughts and along in that direction.

Fenris gingerly settled onto it, wincing at the new pressure placed on his wound.

“No magic.” He growled at the approaching Anders.

“Wouldn't dream of it.”

Anders scrutinised the wound, tutting at the angry gash.

“What in Thedas gave you that injury?”

“A varterral.”

Anders raised his brows in understanding. “Ah. Why am I not surprised.”

He wordlessly proceeded to clean the wound. Fenris bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from making pained noises. He was already in the mercy of the mage. He had no wish to embarrass himself further with undignified sounds.

Once Anders was satisfied with the cleanliness, he pulled up a small jar of healing potions. He eyed the other patients, mouth pressed into a thin line as he weighed his options. Fenris knew the potion would heal him much faster than any other ailments save for magic. But Anders clearly wanted to save it for an emergency in case of a grave injury that normal poultice could not heal in time.

“Save it. If you have another alternative, use it.”

Anders’s eyes darted up to him in surprise.

“I, I didn’t mean—”

“We both know I have had worse injuries. I am not helpless to the point where a gash on my leg is going to kill me.”

Anders snorted. “You’d still go on a wild rampage even if you’re missing your head.”

He gave the potion another considerate look before putting it away. He looked through his shelf and took out another jar. Unscrewing the lid with professional efficiency, he scooped out a generous amount and began to apply it.

Fenris instinctively tensed at the sight of the foreign substance, which didn’t go unnoticed by Anders.

“It's just herbs. It’s supposed to speed up your healing process.”

Fenris slowly relaxed, a wordless permission for the healer to proceed. The poultice was cool on the skin, a welcomed sensation to the hot burning feeling.

“You're lucky you have the stubbornness of an old bull. Many would have passed out from the blood loss. You got away with a mere infection.”

Not to mention, the lyrium embedded in Fenris also aided in the healing process.

Anders straightened his back after he was satisfied with his work. “There, all done. Don’t let it come into contact with water. Change the bandages tonight. The poultice should take full effect after a few hours. Come and see me if there are any abnormalities.”

Fenris nodded and began to get up.

“Oh, and Fenris?”

Fenris looked up. Anders’s lips twitched, clearly trying to find the words.

“Thank you. For, well, letting me keep the potion.”

He wasn’t sure if he deserved the gratitude. But it was coming from Anders, the man who hated his guts from the first day they met. It wasn’t something to be taken lightly.

“There is no need. I merely thought it would be of better use on someone else.”

“Keep that up, and maybe I won’t think you’re that big of an arse.”

Fenris scoffed and slipped off the bed.

“Oh, you two managed to not maim each other!” Hawke chirped when Fenris walked over to them.

Isabela pouted in disappointment. “Aw, here I thought you two would work out a bit of that sexual tension you two have going on.”

Fenris wrinkled his nose in disgust. “There is _no_ sexual tension.”

“Not in our friend-fiction.” Varric helpfully commented.

Hawke snorted. Isabela waggled her brows.

“Now I know why you have brought me to a clinic, which is the sole purpose of ailing my nausea.”

Varric chortled. “Come on, let’s go ail our internal wounds with the watered down shit they serve at the Hanged Man.”

“I didn't know you've tasted shit before.”

A bark of laughter erupted out of Varric. “You're in a surprisingly good mood after you're healed. Maybe we should bring you to Anders more often.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t.” Fenris warned, but found it half-hearted. He did feel better after Anders’s treatment. Despite not being a healing potion, it worked fast.

Perhaps he would accompany them to the Hanged Man, after all.

* * *

A sister. He had a sister.

Fenris didn’t know what to focus on more – the cold shock that he still had family out there, or the sick satisfaction that he finally crushed Hadriana’s heart.

He went to Hawke’s home afterwards, regretting the hurtful things he had spewed in his blinding anger. He loathed this part of him, of letting his emotions get the better of him.

But slaves were prohibited from feeling. Perhaps his heart was making up from all the times he had bottled up his feelings inside him.

He heard the door swing open. Hawke strode in, and paused in surprise upon seeing Fenris. Fenris quickly straightened his back and stood up.

“I’ve been thinking about what happened with Hadriana.” He scratched his chin, a slight bout of bashful nervousness nudging at the seams of his consciousness. “I took out my anger on you. Undeservedly so. I was…not myself. I’m sorry.”

Hawke smiled kindly. “Apology accepted. You had me worried there. I had no idea where you went.”

Fenris didn’t know how Hawke could always forgive him just like that. He didn’t know how to let things go like Hawke could. If he were Hawke, he would not have accepted the apology so simply. He did not deserve this compassion. Did not know what to do with this compassion, for he had never received it until…

Until recently. Until he came to Kirkwall, and met these people.

Fenris sighed lowly, and began telling Hawke about his past with Hadriana. How she would ridicule him, deny his meals, and hound his sleep. Torment him like it was what she was born to do.

“I couldn’t let her go. I wanted to. But I couldn’t.”

Hawke frowned. “What do you mean?”

“This…hate. I thought I got away from it. But it dogs me no matter where I go. To feel it again, to know it was they who planted it inside me. It was too much to bear. Bah, but I didn’t come to burden you further.”

He began to retreat, but Hawke took a step closer.

“You’re not burdening me, Fenris. And there’s more than hate inside of you. Much more. I can see that.”

He shook his head. “You don’t know that.”

“There’s kindness in you. Remember how it went down with Orana? You made sure she was safe and unharmed. That she would not fall into the life of slavery anymore.”

“I…don’t know if you can call that kindness.”

Hawke grinned. “Believe me. I’ve met many downright bastards in my life. You aren’t one of them. You have your moments, but you’re becoming a better person.”

“I don’t know about that.”

Hawke gently reached for his arm. Fenris tensed for a second, but gradually relaxed under the touch.

“I don’t think the hatred will ever go away.” He finally murmured, heart clenching with that admission.

Hatred was his drive. Hatred for his master, hatred for Hadriana, hatred for slavery and everything associated with it. It was what defined it. If he were to lose this hatred, there would be nothing left of him.

The fingers around Fenris’s arm squeezed in comforting assurance. “It will. It will take time, but it will go away.”

Fenris sighed lowly. “…I should go.”

“I’m always here for you.” And Hawke let him go, albeit reluctantly.

Those words rang in his head as he walked out.

* * *

Hawke was on another errand run, completing some (in Fenris’s opinion, mundane) tasks in Lowtown. He still isn’t sure why Hawke was doing this. Clearly it wasn’t for the money, given that the reward wasn’t lucrative, and Hawke already had enough coin to buy another mansion or two in Hightown. Clearly it wasn’t for prestige either, given that it’s Lowtown, of all places. But Hawke still took up the quest without blinking and here they were now.

Fenris raised the question once, only to receive a shrug and a grin in reply. “I just like doing them.”

It’s been years since they had known each other, and Hawke remained a mystery to him. Fenris wondered if he would ever figure his companion out.

Companion. Fenris wasn’t sure since when Hawke changed from being his acquaintance to his companion, even friend. It wasn’t an unwelcoming thought, he realised. Had he actually grown comfortable in Kirkwall, surrounded by these people, to consider them his companions?

Just then, a frightful scream pierced their ears.

Hawke tensed and gave the rest a determined look. “Let's go.”

They ran towards the source of the ruckus.

Two templars were roughly grabbing onto a boy no more than ten. A man was flailing at them in unbridled fury, barely held back by a third templar.

“LET GO OF MY SON!”

“FATHER!”

The templar, unable to stand this ruckus anymore, pulled back his armoured fist and swung a punch square in the father's jaw.

The boy screamed and struggled even harder in the templar’s iron-grip hold.

Fenris turned to Hawke, awaiting instructions. What he saw wasn’t what he expected.

Rage burned bright in Hawke's eyes, jaw clenched painfully tight.

Wordlessly, Hawke strode towards them, closing in on them in a matter of seconds. Fenris could see the monumental restraint in his companion’s gait.

“I think you should release him.”

The templars whipped their heads to face Hawke, startled by the sudden presence. But they swiftly recognised who it was.

“Hawke. This is templar business. You have no right to interfere.”

“Kirkwall's business is my business.” Hawke spoke gruffly. “You're trying to take away an innocent child, and attacked an innocent man who just wanted to protect his son. This is an abuse of power. I won’t stand for this.”

“Look, I know you rub shoulders with the Viscount. Doesn't mean you can just parade around and tell us what to do.”

“This boy is a mage. That means we are to take him to the Circle.”

Hawke all but snapped. “He's just a boy!”

“And a dangerous threat! He needs to be locked up so he won’t be a danger to the public.”

Hawke’s face twisted into a snarl. “The way I see it, the danger to the public are you three.”

Fenris tensed, readying himself for a fight.

A fight to defend Hawke. A fight to defend the mage boy.

Fenris tensed even further. Was this what he was going to fight for?

It was the fortune of all fortunes that Varric stepped in to diffuse the situation.

“You'll have to forgive our neighbourhood hero. We just walked in when you were manhandling the kid like he was an unruly piglet taken to be slaughtered. So you understand why we're a little, how should I say, startled by this.”

“We've received reports of this boy performing magic. Conjuring fire.”

“Who hasn’t set fire to some poor sod’s trousers when they were little runts?” Isabela challenged with a raise of her brow.

The templar bristled at her implied accusation.

“We can take it from here.” Hawke insisted. “You can bring it up to the Knight-Captain if you like.”

The templars exchanged looks.

Varric graciously coaxed them further. “Yes, indeed. He assigned us some tasks to take care of here in Lowtown. So this is kinda our business at the moment. I’m sure your captain will understand. If anything, we'll be the ones getting yelled at instead of you.”

“…Fine. We will report this to the Knight-Captain.”

With one last dirty look thrown at the father and son, they marched off.

Hawke walked up to the father and son, kneeling at their side. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, thank you serrah. I don’t know how we can repay you.”

“Having you safe with each other is more than enough.” Hawke merely replied with a smile.

The father thanked them profusely and began to head off, cradling his son close with protective relief.

“All in a day's work.” Varric piped up, crossing his arms.

Isabela shook her head. “You think the templars have nothing better to do than to drag off some children into their glorified dungeon.”

Hawke looked into the distance in silence, lost in thought. Fenris glanced at Hawke, observing the uncharacteristic sombreness clouding his companion.

When Hawke finally spoke, it was quiet, solemn, laced with a tinge of despair.

“It's one of my biggest fears, to be dragged away from my family to the Circle. To watch Bethany be taken away to the Circle. To be imprisoned for merely existing.”

Hawke turned to stare at Fenris, who flinched at the intensity in those eyes.

He wanted to tell Hawke that it’s different, like he usually did, that Hawke's different from other mages. But this was bigger than Hawke and Bethany, he realised.

Fenris felt like his stomach had plummeted. It was something within him had shifted. That he was now rotating around a completely different axis.

He wanted to say something to comfort Hawke. But what could he say? Hawke had no need to protect Bethany any more, for she had lost her life.

He had to…needed to—

“I have to go.”

Hawke seemed to understand. Hawke always did.

He took a turn, about to head back to his mansion. But then he paused. What was he even planning to do back there? Drink himself to oblivion?

His feet began moving on its own.

Along the process of dehumanizing his former master and rest of magekind, he did the same to himself.

Fenris lost a part of himself to the pain and rage rampaging within him. He let it fester into an ugly hatred, gone so far down the hole he only had this hatred keeping him going.

_“It will. It will take time, but it will go away.”_

The phantom warmth of Hawke’s fingers curled around his arm. Centring him, reminding him that things could be different. If he let it.

He sighed lowly.

He found himself stopping in front of the Hanged Man. He wasn’t sure why he brought himself here at first, but now he had a clearer idea. He took a deep breath, and stepped in the dirty tavern.

Making a beeline towards an empty table in the corner, he slipped into a chair and waited. The sour, foul stench grew less putrid over the years, and even began to grow on him, as unbelievable as it was.

“What can I get you?” The tavern maid asked.

Fenris considered for a moment and looked at her. “A steak and ale pie, please.”

* * *

Pride had always been Fenris’s bane.

He loathed being wrong, loathed when things did not turn out as he expected.

So he absolutely despised his revelation that he was possibly (most definitely) wrong about his hatred for mages.

He reasoned with himself, justifying his mistrust. He grew up in an environment where he and other elves were constantly suffering under the thumbs of mages.

And he learnt from experience. A battle-worn muscle was more likely to save a life than an open heart.

But Kirkwall was not Tevinter.

Hawke was the easiest to talk to. Fenris thought it best to start there first.

He started to get cold feet when he stopped at the entrance. His hand felt like lead when he raised it to the door.

 _Kaffas_. He would not allow himself to half-arse things. And with gritted teeth he brought it down against the door.

It was Bodan who greeted him at the door. The wary caution in his face vanished when he recognised who was at the other end. With good reason – Fenris knocked like he had the singular intent of breaking down the door.

“Ah, Master Fenris! What, ah, a pleasant surprise to see you!”

“Good day. I’m looking for Hawke.”

“Serrah Hawke is in the library. I inform about your arrival.”

“I will wait.”

He sat on the bench, mulling over how he should talk to Hawke. But he wasn’t sure how to go about it. But Hawke always knew what to do. Even when things go completely awry, Hawke always emerged victorious.

Hopefully Hawke would have some insight on this.

“Well, well, have my charms finally worked on you?”

Hawke simpered at Fenris, lazily leaning against the doorframe.

“I will admit, if you were intolerable, I would not have stuck around you for this long.”

A chuckle. “Your high praise does things to my ego.”

Fenris found his lips quirking up into a smile. Even when his head was in a mess, Hawke rarely failed to lift his spirits a little.

“I have something I wish to discuss with you.”

Hawke blinked, giving a silent indication for him to continue.

“I've been…thinking. about that child. And what you said afterwards. About how mages are treated here. Dragged off and away from their parents and family. It's a horrible thing, and I realise… it may not be unlike what elves go through in Tevinter.”

A wry smile twisted Hawke’s mouth. “Nothing more sobering than to witness children being ripped from their families, huh?”

“Your perspective helps, I think.”

“Anders have been preaching day and night about the plight of mages, especially children. What makes mine different?”

“Perhaps it is your charisma.” Fenris tilted his head, smirking. But the amusement quickly dropped. “I suppose I wasn't in the right mindset back then, when he first talked about the oppression of mages. It made his words repulsive, even if there may be a semblance of reason in them. I suppose I needed something else to resonate with me for me to understand what mages here are going through.”

“And what exactly are they going through?”

“Institutional oppression.” Fenris looked away. Not unlike elves.

It went against everything he believed it, and saying it out loud left a bitter taste on his tongue. But his chest felt lighter, uncoiling from the vitriolic tension.

“How do you stop yourself from lashing out at me, like they do?” He asked.

“Anders had suffered directly under the templars’ violence. Merrill was probably disappointed that she cannot find comradeship with you, given that you are both elves. Bethany and I managed to stay under wraps, thankfully. Not like we didn’t suffer, but I suppose it's because I understand where you're coming from. You need something to direct your anger at, so you point it at the face of your tormentors.”

“I,” Fenris swallowed, “I'm tired of being angry at mages all the time. Tired of just hating all the time.”

“Then do something else instead.”

“Like what?”

Hawke smiled, eyes twinkling with hope. “Do something that makes you happy. Something you enjoy. Something you look forward to. Something that keeps you going to the next day.”

Fenris contemplated deeply, brows furrowed in concentration.

“Being free. The thought of killing Danarius.”

Hawke hummed thoughtfully. Fenris felt it wasn't the answer Hawke was looking for. “Well, I guess that works. But what about something less…intense? Not saying that fiery motivations are bad, but you need, well, softer goals to complement an overarching one.”

Fenris frowned. “Softer goals?”

“Like going to a favourite place. Seeing your favourite person. Learning new things. Things that make your day better.”

Fenris gave it some thought.

Killing slavers. Going all out on the battlefield. The feeling of emerging from a fight alive and victorious.

The fresh crisp apples in the market. Varric's steak and ale pie. Hawke's humorous remarks. Aveline’s steady smiles. The rare moments when Isabela’s voice took on a fond tilt. Hawke's boisterous laughter. Varric's throaty laugh whenever he found amusement in Fenris's dry wit.

Fenris blinked. He hadn't realised it trailed off to things other people did.

Hawke sensed a change in Fenris's mood.

“It will take a while to fully figure it out. You've taken the first step, and that's most important. You'll have to right some wrongs though.”

“And how do I go about with that?”

A cheeky grin stretched across Hawke’s face.

* * *

So here he was, forcing himself to the clinic every step of the way.

Anders was tending to a young boy. His hands were gentle and careful.

Fenris wondered why he hadn’t noticed it before. No, not notice. He had just been selectively ignoring it. It was easier to demonise the mage and clump him together with all other mages than to acknowledge that he was capable of kindness.

Anders looked up to greet his next patient, only to do a double take. “Fenris! What brings you here?” He paused, coming to various conclusions that would justify why Fenris would voluntarily come here. “Where do you need healing?”

“I am well.”

“Oh.” Anders said. Then, “Oh?”

“Mage. Anders.” Fenris forced himself not to fidget. “I would like to apologise.”

Anders blinked, and rubbed his earholes. “Sorry, I thought I just heard you say you want to apologise. Can you repeat that?”

Fenris felt a jolt of irritation surge up his throat but swallowed any snide remarks. That would render this entire trip pointless.

“You didn’t mishear me.”

Anders balked at him. Fenris took the opportunity to continue.

“I would like to take back what I said about mages. I still think poorly about those in Tevinter, and it will take a long time, if ever, for me to find it within me forgiveness for what they have done. But I have come to recognise that it is but an extreme case of mages coming into power. Just as much as it is an extremity here, that mages are treated like second-class citizens.”

His words were received with complete silence. Anders stared at him with open-mouthed astonishment. Fenris willed himself to not fidget under the intense gaze.

After a while, Anders gained his bearings. Clearing his throat, he looked down for a moment to collect his thoughts.

“All my life, I’ve fantasised Tevinter as a utopian aspiration for mages. Where we can use our powers freely. Where we won’t be locked up and chained down for who we are. For a long time, it had been a dream to go to Tevinter and experience this freedom for myself. But I’ve come to realise that it is not the case. If the freedom of mages is granted at the expense of the elves…well, I suppose it’s not much of a utopia, is it?”

“No matter where you go, there is always some kind of disgusting abuse of power.”

“I suppose there is.”

Fenris raised a brow. “You are actually openly agreeing with me. The sun rises in the west, after all.”

“Sometimes even the Knight-Commander and the First Enchanter make love to each other. I will take you at your word, Fenris, but I will truly believe it when I see you turn it into action.”

“I assure you, I am a man of my word.”

Anders smirked. “If there isn't anything else, I must attend to my patients. Good day, Fenris.”

“Farewell…Anders.”

* * *

Even though he was most wary of the blood mage, he knew that she was most approachable, despite showing nothing but animosity towards her.

However, instead of finding her, she found him instead.

He had run out of food in the kitchen and decided it was time to finally head out to get some more.

On his way to the market, he passed by some stands selling an assortment of miscellaneous items. He paid them no heed – until he picked up a light timbre above the buzzing crowd.

“–aren't they the loveliest of things!”

His eyes landed on the Dalish, who was openly cooing at the vendor’s items. Then, sensing that someone was looking at her, she lifted her gaze.

He seized up when their eyes met. Every socialising bone in his body – which he already possessed in meagre amounts – was flung out of the window.

Fortunately, Merrill had enough enthusiastic bullheadedness to counter his, and smiled at his presence.

“Oh, Fenris! I did not expect to see you here!”

He nodded. “You are…making a purchase?”

“Ah, yes! This lovely man is selling some beautiful ornaments.”

The vendor responded with an amicable grin. “Indeed, serrah, each are at an affordable price of fifty silvers! You can’t get cheaper than that anywhere with this level of craftsmanship!”

Fenris narrowed his eyes.

The vendor was gleaming in delight. The shrewd kind that intended to wring as much money out of a gullible customer as possible, Fenris noted sourly. He didn’t know much about the costs of these things, but he's sure they weren’t worth half as much as the vendor made it out to be.

Merrill hummed in thought. “Oh, dear me, it's quite a cost.”

“Yes, but it's worth every coin! It's Nevarran craft, let me tell you! You can't find a more skilled piece of work anywhere else!”

“Is that so?” Fenris challenged, finding the vendor increasingly vexing and conniving. “How come I just passed by a shop selling the exact thing for ten silvers?”

Caught off-guard by Fenris’s insinuation, he could only sputter. “W-Well, it must be inauthentic then!”

“Surely? The other one had more designs and embellishments on it.”

“Does it really!” Merrill’s eyes lit up, the poor girl. For once, Fenris was grateful of her tendency to believe in everything. “I must have a look at it then!”

“W-Why don’t I sell mine for twenty silvers? Hmm?”

“The other sells for ten, I would find a better deal there.”

“Fifteen, and I gift you this jar.”

The jar probably wasn’t worth much, given how eager he was to sell it. But Merrill seemed pleased with it, and nodded.

The vendor smiled in relief, but shot a dirty glare at Fenris.

Fenris levelled him back with a unimpressed stare, daring him to raise a ruckus over it.

This exchange went over Merrill’s head, metaphorically and literally, as she made her purchase with blissful unawareness.

As they walked away, Merrill chirped to Fenris her gratitude. “Thank you, Fenris! You may not be very nice, but you are a great shopping companion.”

Which reminded him of a very pressing matter.

“I—there is something I wish to discuss with you.”

“That's a first! Should I be worried? Are you alright?”

“Yes, I am fine.” He reassured before she could go off on a tangent. “It's about you. Or me. It's mostly about me. About my,” a pause, “opinion, on mages.”

The light in Merrill’s eyes dimmed and her shoulders sagged. “I believe you’ve made it quite clear about it already.”

“I, uh, I've been reconsidering.”

And the light returned. She tilted her head towards him in unbridled surprise. She made no indication to comment, and Fenris appreciated her considerate silence.

“Back in Tevinter, I have never had a benign encounter with blood mages. They exercise their power in an abusive manner, bleeding children and slaves for their own selfish purposes. And so I have every reason to distrust them and make them suffer for what they did. Which meant I could not bring myself to trust you.

“I can't say I will ever give you my complete trust, but you have given me reasons to not direct the hostility I have for the Tevinter blood mages at you.”

Merrill looked at him sympathetically. “I know that my way of magic is not highly favourable. I know that I am not as experienced with the real world as the rest of you are, which may make me naive. But I also know my responsibilities and limits when practising blood magic. So I hope that people will understand that I am aware of what I am doing. That is all I ask.”

“I would disagree on that, but it gives me some relief that you are at least aware on some level.”

“I suppose we will agree to disagree on this matter, then.”

“I suppose so.”

Merrill smiled. “Thank you, Fenris. For trying. I know it isn’t easy for you.”

“I’ve never known myself to take the easiest of paths.”

“None of us do. But I suppose that's why we have found companionship in each other! Oh, which reminds me, I have to find Varric. He mentioned something about bringing me to a secret shop that sells strange Orlesian sweets that taste like, according to him, ‘the Maker had rearranged your guts and swapped your brain with Andraste’s big toe’.”

Fenris wasn’t sure if he wanted to know more.

“…I will let you be on your way then.”

“I'll see you around, Fenris!” She waved at him and went off in a different direction.

Despite everything, she had sounded genuine.

His heart felt a little lighter. He wasn’t sure why.

* * *

Hawke had called him for some mission. Which also involved some bureaucratic bullshit, since Aveline was grudgingly dragged along, given the less-than-pleased scowl pinching her face.

Isabela was just there to enjoy the show, it seemed. Throwing jabs at the Guard-Captain and bantering with Hawke with carefree mischief.

And when she sidled up to Fenris, he knew he was going to dread whatever came out of her mouth.

“I've heard the most miraculous of news from Kitten.”

Fenris bit back a groan, opting to casting her a disinterested glare.

“Apparently, you tried to make friendly with her. Imagine my shock and utter disbelief! Have pigs finally flown? Did the Viscount grow a bigger cock to fuck the Arishok off with?”

“I merely spoke to her. Do not make a big deal out of this.”

But she was quite adamant on making a deal the size of the Archdemon.

“Did my sage wisdom finally got through?” She nudged his shoulder with hers.

“You have no credit to take from my actions.”

“Aw, don’t be shy, you sweet thing. You can admit that I inspired you to be a decent person.”

“Are you two flirting without me?” Hawke looked back at them. “The audacity!”

“I've melted our ice prince’s icy heart!”

Hawke gave an exaggerated gasp. “Our resident heart-snatcher? Gone soft?! I can't believe I'd see this day come!”

“Someone run a sword through me.” Fenris groaned.

“Quite an extreme kink, but I’m not one to judge.”

Aveline clicked her tongue with stern disapproval. “Don’t be so difficult, lass. You're already insufferable as it is.”

Isabela hummed contemplatively. “If I can get the stick out of Fenris's ass, perhaps I can do it for you.”

“Not a chance in your life.”

“Your loss. It feels better when you replace it with something else. Something softer. And hotter. And—”

“Maker, will you shut it before I sew your mouth shut myself.” Aveline looked as if she was going to burst a vein.

“I don't know. People usually like it when my mouth is kept open.” Isabela threw a shameless smirk at her, and _winked_.

“You—”

“Aaand suddenly we've arrived at our destination. How convenient!” Hawke exclaimed. “Let's go before we end up tearing this place apart.”

Aveline very happily obliged, following after Hawke with exasperated relief. Isabela hanged back for a bit, waiting for the other two to walk ahead a few places, before turning to Fenris.

“Glad you finally came around. You could do with lesser arsehole in you.”

Fenris rolled his eyes. “I didn’t do it for you.”

Isabela smiled. “Even better. Do things for yourself. Live for yourself. Happiness is a good look on you, Fenris. You should wear it more often.”

With that, she spun around and sauntered after Hawke and Aveline.

Fenris mused over her words, with a confused tilt of his head. But he had a more important task at hand. He would have to think over her words later.

* * *

“I suppose congratulations are in order, Aveline. I’m happy for you. Both you and Donnic.”

Aveline had been doing her rounds near Fenris’s mansion that night. Even though her role as Guard-Captain meant she had no need to bother with patrol duties, Aveline could never lock herself up in her office. She was always more at ease out in the field.

Not to mention that she had to take up a night patrol or two in this part of Hightown before one of her subordinates catch onto Fenris’s inhabitancy in the mansion.

Aveline smiled at his felicitations, and there was a rare softness to it. Fenris was glad Donnic was able to bring that out of her.

“Ah, thank you, Fenris. We haven't sorted out the details, but we plan to get married by spring.”

Not the one to dally, as usual. Once Aveline had gotten past the painful stage of flirting, she was her typical efficient self. “That’s good.”

“Have you ever been in love?”

Fenris tilted his head in thought.

The closest thing he felt was with a boy who healed his wounds. Years ago, he had sustained some injuries after a tough fight with the men Danarius sent after him. After some stumbling about in the forest, he encountered a benevolent boy who wordlessly treated his injuries.

His eyes were as kind as his heart – his left a warm brown and his right a comforting blue.

But Fenris was too filled with the anxiety of running away to let that feeling go any further. He left by the second sunrise, with the scent of chamomile on his borrowed handkerchief.

“No, I have not.”

Fenris had never given himself the luxury to love. It was something he was never allowed to have. He hadn’t earned the right to love. He had fought for his freedom because he was capable of being free. He never thought of fighting for love because he didn’t think he was capable of being loved.

Aveline smiled. “You have not, but you have been loved.”

Fenris frowned. “Who?”

“By the people around you.”

“…I highly doubt that.”

“I don’t doubt that. But in time, you will see as I have seen.”

* * *

Fenris was plagued with an overwhelming sense of numbness.

It was as if Danarius’s heart still beat in his chest. His hand still felt warm with his filthy blood.

And then there was Varania. Burning with rage, he stalked up to her and almost gave her the same fate. Had Hawke not stepped in, had Varric not warned him, he would have ripped her traitorous heart out.

Then he wouldn’t have to hear the truth.

So here he was, holed up in his mansion, trapped in his sick despair while trying to claw it off of him.

He chose it. Chose to be tainted with this monstrosity.

Fenris wanted to throw up.

“Fenris?”

He snapped out of his spiralling thoughts. Hawke's voice echoed down the hallway, although an irregular rhythm of footsteps indicated it wasn’t a lone visit.

“Don't tell me you're off celebrating by your lone self now. I feel hurt I didn’t get invited.”

Varric. Fenris couldn't find it in him to feel amused.

They finally came in sight. If they noticed the storm wrecking havoc within him, they made no mention of it.

“What do you want?” He spat bitterly. “Danarius and his guards are dead. I've granted Varania mercy, like you've wanted. It is done.”

His voice came out gravelly, like it was on the verge of breaking. _Fasta vass_ , of all times.

Hawke smiled, but it faltered. “Can't we check in on our favourite spiky friend?”

Friend. Fenris's throat tightened.

“There is no need. I appreciate your concern, but it is unnecessary.”

“Broody,” Varric started, but then stopped himself. “Why don’t we have a seat? I just busted my ass shooting some people dead and the last thing I wanna do right now is stand around some more. Bianca can be a little difficult when she's tired.”

Fenris nodded tightly and they headed to the next room.

“How are you feeling, Fenris?”

He should be elated that he finally killed Danarius, just like he had always imagined and hoped for these past few years. He should also be angry at his sister for turning against him.

But instead, all he felt was a hollow sense of despair.

“…I don’t know.”

“It’s okay, you know, to feel whatever you're feeling.”

He scowled. “And what do you know about my feelings?”

As soon as the words left his mouth, Fenris realised how wrong they felt. These people had known him for years.

They were…friends.

Deflating into his chair, he buried his face in his hands. His shoulders shook.

 _Kaffas_. Not in front of them. He couldn’t let them see. Couldn’t have them see him in this pathetic state. Couldn’t—

“It's okay, Fenris, just let it out.” Varric dropped the nickname, and for some reason, it made his chest clench tighter.

The dam broke and he couldn't hold the tears back anymore.

He felt a warm hand on his back and didn’t have the energy to push it away. It anchored him instead. It was the only thing that registered in his mind as he drowned in a raging sea of anguish, relief, exhaustion.

“It’s over, Fenris. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

It _was_ over. And Fenris could only cry at the sheer _everything_ he was feeling about it.

* * *

Aveline paid a visit one evening, carrying brief but thoughtful words. Anders did not come to him, but Hawke told him that he had asked about him.

He even had a surprise visit from Merrill. She came by with a tin of butterfly cookies (“They always help me feel better! I know you’re fonder of wine, but I’m quite terrible with choosing alcohol so please accept this instead.”). Which was strangely comforting.

Today, Isabela decided to pay a visit.

She went on a passionate monologue about her ship and how Fenris could find a place for himself in her crew. A life of sea and shanties. A tempting offer, he would admit.

He noticed Hawke enter the room, looking on in amusement at their exchange.

Isabela gave Fenris one final wink and walked away.

As Hawke approached him, Fenris sensed the unspoken question hanging in the air.

“Yes,” Fenris grunted, “I am free. Danarius is dead. Yet…it doesn’t feel like it should.”

He expected Hawke to laugh and poke fun of him. He, a former slaver, who had been bemoaning to the sky, day and night, about attaining freedom, had finally took it back with his bare hands. And yet, he was now complaining about being free.

Ironic.

He prepared for a snarky comment, or even a piteous look. But Hawke merely smiled.

“The reason you don’t feel free is because you didn’t get it by killing Danarius, Fenris.”

He snapped his head up.

“You were already free the moment you faced him. You were already free _before_. Killing him is just tying loose ends to the previous chapter of your life.”

Fenris opened his mouth to retort but found himself unable to. When he confronted Danarius, he was backed by Hawke and the others. When Danarius offered to buy him back, they rejected him and unhesitatingly went to beat Danarius and his guards into the floor.

They did it for him. Because they were his friends. Because he was their friend.

Fenris made Kirkwall his home and he hadn’t realise it. Until now.

The only attachment he had to the idea of home was the memory he had with his mother and sister.

Varania.

He wondered what she had felt when she realised she was a mage.

He thought about gentle, loving Varania. Who would pat the dirt off his cheeks and knees. Who would share with him her portions despite knowing this meant starving into the night. And he wondered what had driven her to turn against her beloved brother like that.

She said that freedom wasn’t a boon for her and their mother. That he got the better end of it.

When he first heard it, he couldn’t wrap his head around it. He didn't understand why she thought that suffering the pain of having lyrium burned into him, of continuing to suffer under the ruthless hands of his master and apprentice, of being chased relentlessly all across Thedas.

But now, perhaps he could start to see what she meant.

“Fenris?”

He looked up, snapping out of his thoughts.

Hawke stared at him in concern.

“I am alright.”

Hawke smiled, shoulders lifting. “I know.”

“I just had to…sort out my thoughts.”

“I know.”

Silence stretched between them, comfortably humming in the air.

“I wonder,” Fenris spoke up after a while, “What I was like in the past. When I was still Leto and not Fenris.”

“Did you not recall some memories of your sister and mother?”

“Yes, but only a little. It was insufficient for me to have a good grasp of myself.”

Hawke hummed in contemplation. “Well, whatever kind of person Leto was, he was no doubt a kind and brave young man who fought for the opportunity to win freedom for his family.”

Fenris cracked a wry smile, though he couldn’t help but preen a little at the comment.

“Though, I have been wondering. Do you want to be called Leto?”

“I have given it thought.” Fenris had looked in the mirror, several times after that eventful day, saying his previous name over and over again. Watching how his mouth formed the word. Listening to how it rolled off his tongue. He was expecting a switch in him to be turned on when he spoke his name. Like a grand revelation.

But there was nothing. To him, it was just a word.

And for some reason, all he felt was relief.

“It is the name of someone I have little memory of. It would be as if I have worn the skin of another if I use it again. Fenris was the name given to me by Danarius. It was the name of a slave, but it is also a name of a free man.”

He observed Hawke’s expression blooming from thoughtful sincerity into unbridled surprise and joy.

“Hawke,” Fenris gazed at the other intensely, “Thank you.”

Hawke’s eyes melted, brimming with unspoken emotion.

“You know I’ll always have your back.”

“And I yours.”

“Now you're just making me all warm and tingly on the inside.”

“It sounds like you need to drop by the clinic.”

Hawke chuckled. The warm glow from the fireplace gleamed in those gentle eyes. Fenris looked away to give his friend some privacy.

“Well,” Hawke began to get up, absent-mindely brushing at their trousers. “I shall be on my way. I can hear some poor souls crying for my help.”

“As most of Kirkwall usually are.”

Hawke chortled. “I think we're having Diamondback night tonight. Do drop by if you want to. It’s not the same without our exceptionally skilled and even more exceptionally handsome player.”

Fenris gave it thought. “I will consider.”

Hawke winked. “You might even get to see Anders make a fool out of himself.”

“You always know how to make me feel something again.”

Hawke doubled over in laughter. And Fenris looked on in amusement before joining in with a good laugh himself.

* * *

“Oh, look who’s decided to show up!”

Everyone in the room let off various noises of greetings.

Isabela blew a raspberry at him. “Ah, piss off. You’re only here because it’s Diamondback night and you’re stupidly good at it.”

“Can’t a man want to swindle some coin off a loud-mouthed pirate?”

“ _Captain_. I’m more than your average sea bastard.”

“Captain of pissing off the Arishok, maybe.” Anders drawled behind his cards.

“Oh tush, before I make you eat your words.”

“Make me.”

“Aaand let’s get this game started before any one of us ends up with our smallclothes on the floorboard. I need some winning coin before I can entertain any of your dastardly deeds.”

Merrill tilted her head in confusion. “Why would our smallclothes be on the floor? Are we not playing normal Diamondback?”

“I’ll demonstrate it to you later, Kitten.” Isabela winked coyly at her.

“Maker, this is why I don’t come to game nights.” Aveline groaned, but there was only reluctant fondness in her tone.

“We’ll give you something to punch later into the night, Red.”

“If the dwarf is suggesting, it is most likely someone’s jaw.”

“Hey, I could always use some muscle in these parts of the town.”

Fenris pinned Varric with a smug look. “I see you’ve finally acknowledged your bodily inadequacy.”

Isabela erupted into fits of laughter. Hawke almost snorted out the ale.

Varric threw him a look of faux scandalisation. “Hush, Broody. You promised not to kiss and tell.”

“That was a dirty joke, wasn’t it?” Merrill swerved her head around for confirmation.

“No more than a simple conversation about meat.” Fenris decided to say.

“Hm. But I swear to Mythal that it sounded like—”

Aveline threw her first card in. “And I swear to the Maker it will take us all night to start the game if we don’t do it now.”

Isabela waggled her brows. “Oh, is there something else you’re trying not to have us do _all night_ instead?”

“Oh, shut it—”

“We could do both simultaneously.” Hawke helpfully provided. “Multi-tasking does wonders.”

“Although I’m afraid some of us only has enough energy to focus on one.” Anders said.

Fenris levelled him with a deadpan stare. “You give yourself too much credit, mage. You can hardly handle one.”

The room burst into laughter.

“Sex.” Merrill said abruptly. “You were all talking about sex, right?”

Fenris smiled, and tossed his card in.

When he looked up, he caught Aveline’s gaze. He remembered their conversation from a long time ago.

_“What do you want to do after?”_

Fenris finally had an answer now.

“This.”

He said softly, a contented smile tugging at his lips.

Aveline blinked once, registering his implications. Then she smiled. It was the warmest smile he had seen on her in a while.

Varric eyed the two of them shrewdly. “Are you two conspiring? I suppose pigs do fly after all!”

“Hush, not everything has to be about you.”

“Well, I had to find ways to complement my extraordinary height.”

“I believe the word you're looking for is ‘compensate’, Varric.” Anders drawled.

“Oh? I didn’t realise you're the renowned author out of the two of us.”

And just like that, the game of Diamondback finally picked up a steady pace as everyone threw their card into the middle.

Boisterous laughter and playful jeers bounced off the walls as they played into the night. Fenris’s gaze wandered over each and every one of his companions. He wondered how it had all led up to this moment. How he, from a lonesome fugitive ex-slave with nothing but a body burning with lyrium and bitter resentment, ended up becoming a fully free man surrounded by people who would walk to the ends of Thedas for him.

Fenris didn’t make friends. Friends made him.

**Author's Note:**

> Because my boy deserves better. And that I need to see these children get along. They've been living in Kirkwall for almost ten years; they'd at least reach some mutual understanding, right?
> 
> This is my first Dragon Age story, though I've been in love with this game for a while. If you managed to stick around long enough to finish the story, I hope you've enjoyed it!
> 
> I also took the cheeky initiative to insert my character into a small paragraph of this story. Just to satisfy my little heart.
> 
> Its working title was "Fen and Friends". I was rather tempted to keep it that way.


End file.
